


The Weight of it All

by Kika988



Series: Arana and Cullen [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6817729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kika988/pseuds/Kika988
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all so much. She’d been putting a concerted effort into compartmentalizing, refusing to let the enormity of all she’d been through in the past few months get to her, but suddenly she felt the weight of it all crashing down on her, her new title adding more of a burden than all the battles, deaths, and explosions combined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of it All

**Author's Note:**

> My first venture into the Dragon Age fandom! Stay tuned for more of Cullen and Arana. Thanks to Nienna for the beta read. All feedback is appreciated!

“I… I think I should be done,” Arana said, staring into the bottom of her empty tankard. Dorian scoffed. 

“Oh, come now. We’re celebrating!” Iron Bull nodded his agreement even as he chugged more of his drink. 

“Right, celebratin’!” Sera echoed, her words even more slurred than usual. “Not every day we get a new inky… inker… you know. Thingy,” she finished, gesturing at Arana vaguely. 

“True enough,” Arana allowed. “But the thing we’re celebrating also means I have a lot of work tomorrow,” she pointed out. “A  _ lot _ ,” she added under her breath, remembering how Josephine had rattled off all the things she had scheduled for the next day. “But we have no outings planned that I’m aware of, so you lot are off the hook. Feel free to stay up and celebrate for me,” she said, smiling as she stood. Serah groaned her disappointment loudly. 

“Shall I escort you to your room?” Dorian offered magnanimously, even though he swayed a bit as he stood. 

“No, you’re in worse shape than I am. I’ve only had a few drinks, I’m fine,” Arana assured him, chuckling. He looked as if he wished to protest for a moment, then sank back down into his chair with a bit less grace than usual. 

The night air was cold, with a bite that felt good on Arana’s flushed face. She sucked in a deep breath and broke into a light jog, heading for the south tower, where she had ended up sleeping in a bedroll since they’d arrived at Skyhold last week. It wasn’t the most comfortable of arrangements, but the roof was mostly in one piece, and the thick stone walls kept the worst of the cold out. Most of the troops were still stationed in tents down by the river, so she was grateful to have earned a place inside the keep.

It wasn’t until she pushed the door open that it hit her: this wasn’t her room anymore. 

“Nobles and their representatives will begin showing up immediately,” Josephine had said in their meeting earlier that day. “As the inquisitor, you must have appropriate quarters… and clothing,” she’d added, tactfully not eyeing the worn beige tunic and leggings Arana was wearing. 

Arana sighed at the empty room, her bedroll having been whisked away for someone else to use. Josephine had told her that the large quarters up at the front of the main hall would be outfitted for her use, but in the haze of alcohol, it had slipped her mind entirely. It shouldn’t have been a big deal; she’d only been sleeping in this room for a week, after all. 

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It wasn’t really; it was just the last straw.

Arana stepped into the room and sank to the stone floor, the cold seeping through her thin clothes almost immediately. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs, making herself as small as possible. 

It was all so much. She’d been putting a concerted effort into compartmentalizing, refusing to let the enormity of all she’d been through in the past few months get to her, but suddenly she felt the weight of it all crashing down on her, her new title adding more of a burden than all the battles, deaths, and explosions combined. 

_ Inquisitor.  _ Were Leliana and Cassandra out of their minds? A Dalish inquisitor? Even objectively, it was mad. And while the women seemed to be the ones making the decision, Cullen had backed them wholeheartedly, and once the army had seen his approval, the whole camp had responded enthusiastically. 

They were all  _ out of their minds _ . 

Arana felt her breaths coming quick, shallow. She felt a weight on her chest, the weight of all the responsibility she’d blindly accepted. How many men and women depended on her? Hundreds? Thousands? Maker, she didn’t even know an estimate. How could she be expected to lead them if she had no idea how many there were? She was dimly aware that the ragged sound of her breathing was echoing throughout the round, barren chamber, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate enough to slow it down. Her mind was a cacophony of  _ no how I can’t too much this is a mistake  _ **_I_ ** _ am a mistake I can’t do this I can’t I can’t I can’t _ \-- 

“..sitor? Arana?  _ Arana! _ ” 

Arana started as large hands grasped her shoulders, shaking her slightly. She snapped out of her daze suddenly, throwing her hands up, a defensive spell sparking to her fingertips. She had just enough time to see the blue light reflecting in serious eyes before she realized she knew that voice. 

“Cullen!” she gasped, snatching her hands back against her chest, as if she could take back the magic she’d nearly allowed to flow through them. “I’m so sorry, I thought-” She shook her head. There was really no rational explanation for her reaction, nor for her sudden panic, which still raced through her veins, leaving her fingers trembling. Of course, she had to lose control in front of Cullen, flashing her magic under the nose of the former templar, who likely didn’t trust her much as it was.

“Are you well?” he asked gently, the crease between his brows showing he already knew the answer. “I was walking the battlements when I heard you…” He trailed off, glancing up to meet her eyes hesitantly. 

“Panicking?” Arana supplied helpfully, in between shallow breaths. “Having a fit? Falling to pieces over nothing?” She huffed out a tremulous laugh. “All hail the mighty Inquisitor,” she added under her breath. Cullen sat back on his heels, watching her for a long moment before he spoke. 

“I was a templar through some… difficult times in Fereldan,” he started slowly. “I’ve seen things, experienced things that changed me. Changed who I am, how I react to things.” He shrugged. “I can fight demons for hours on end, lead men against hopeless odds in battle, but stick me in a small space and I can’t think, can’t breathe.” He reached out, brushing the leather of his gloves against her trembling fingers. “My fingers shake uncontrollably.” Arana blinked across at him, shocked that he was willing to open up this way to her.

“I have no specific trauma to blame my panic on,” Arana finally pointed out. 

“Oh, no,” Cullen agreed, a small smile tugging at the scar over his lip. “Only an explosion, followed by fighting more demons than I care to guess at, then facing a would-be god and his pet archdemon at Haven. Nothing at all to cause any worries there.” Arana felt the corners of her lips turning up. 

“Fair enough,” she conceded. “I don’t think I can blame tonight on any of that, though. I just let the pressure get to me,” she said, with a self-deprecating laugh. She held her hands out before her, sighing when she saw their shaking had mostly stilled. “I’m sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m fine, really.” She stood as if to demonstrate, and Cullen followed suit.

“You never asked for any of this,” he said, his glance around them encompassing all of Skyhold. “I doubt anyone’s said it, but I think we’re all painfully aware of that. I can’t imagine how having all this thrust upon you must feel, not to mention-” he gestured briefly at the faint green glow emanating from her hand. He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding her eyes. “I don’t mean to overstep. Only, if you ever need someone to speak to, my door is always open for you, Inquisitor.” 

“Arana.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The title is still so odd to hear. Please, call me Arana when you can. And thank you. I may take you up on that offer.” Cullen smiled, the expression spreading to the warm brown of his eyes. 

“May I walk you back to your quarters, Inquis- er, Arana?” Arana opened her mouth to turn him down, but stopped short. Whether from her brief panic or the alcohol lingering in her system, she was not quite steady on her feet, and Cullen’s solid presence was rather reassuring. Besides, hadn’t she just said she’d be more willing to reach out for help? 

Arana reached out, placing a hand on the arm Cullen had extended. “I think I’d like that. Thank you.”


End file.
